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[right][code]The Purple House[/code][/right][hr][color=A9A8AF]
The phone rang, sharp and insistent, breaking the hush of the town below. Azure let it ring twice before answering, cradling the device between two gloved fingers as if it were something delicate, something alive. On the other end, a woman’s voice, brittle with rage, wove curses into the night air. She spoke of wasted months, of how cruel it was to be cast aside so unceremoniously. How heartless of him, to simply not show up.

Azure listened with an expression of faint amusement, eyes half-lidded against the cold wind that curled around him like a cat. [color=714F8E]“You are lovely, darling,”[/color] he murmured, tipping his head just so, as though considering her understandable indignation. [color=714F8E]“But I realized something."[/color] he paused, letting the weight of his words seep into her like spilled ink, and stain her. [color=714F8E]"You are [i]not[/i] my soulmate. I am not your Bridegroom. And there are far greater things at play tonight.”[/color]

A gasp, followed by something between a sob and a snarl. He silenced it with a soft hum. [color=714F8E]“I’ll wire you something for your trouble. Consider it a dinner with a ghost.”[/color] And then, with a final, perfunctory kindness, he ended the call with a whispered, [color=714F8E]“Goodnight, love.”[/color]

The phone slipped into his coat pocket, its presence forgotten the moment his fingers found the letter. A crisp envelope, edges softened from handling, wax seal broken with care. He traced the ink absently, violet eyes gleaming against the moon and city lights of Twin Pines. Below, the streets yawned wide and dark, but Azure was not there—no, he perched instead atop the finial of the Purple House, a forgotten relic of the city’s past, now a sanctuary for those who loathed the mundane. It suited him. He abhorred things without character, places without stories.

Balanced impossibly on the narrow spire, he sighed, though the sound was strange—something between wistfulness and boredom. Then, with a lazy grace, he pulled the hood of his black mink coat over his head, and the gravity around him softened, just as he willed it to.

[color=714F8E]“One step closer to the Otherworld,”[/color] he whispered, and leapt off into the night sky, letting it swallow him whole.
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[right][code]Monday April 14th, 13 Mourningdove Lane[/code][/right][hr][color=A9A8AF]
The mansion loomed, its silhouette jagged against the sky, gnarled with age and secrets. Azure touched down soundlessly upon the rooftop, black as a shadow, his body weightless as a whisper. He melted into the dark, a specter behind the great stone chimney, watching, waiting. Below, the gathering stirred—the letter’s promise unfolding in the flicker of blue lights and hushed voices.

He considered his options with idle fascination. Slip through the front door like a guest? Wait until all had gathered and slink in unseen? Or perhaps—

His gaze trailed the upper windows, their glass panes winking in the dim moonlight. A vantage point. A throne above the stage, where he could watch unseen, where he could remain untouchable. A slow smile unfurled beneath his hood. This was a game, after all. A dance of mystery and revelation, and he was always one step ahead. Or above. And somewhere in this gathering of strangeness, perhaps—just perhaps—his soulmate was waiting. Perhaps the letter, the meeting, this magic itself, had all been a sign. A beckoning from the Otherworld. But for something so precarious, he surmised he would need to be cautious before allowing himself to be revealed.

With that thought curled like smoke in his mind, Azure drifted toward the window, silent as a dream.
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